Author: Rick Broussard

My dad knew the name of just about every living thing in the woods and fields where I grew up. He was an amateur scientist and tried hard to impart his love of nature to his children.

I’m sure that enough has already been written and said about the march vote of the NH legislature to deny the request of a 4th grade class to have the red-tailed hawk named NH’s official raptor, But I’ve got a stake in this.

You can learn a lot from a yard sale. And not just about the people hosting it — though it’s tempting to judge a family on the books and debris of their lives that they have on display.

Marking the memories at Manchester's Palace Theatre as the "jewel of the Queen City" turns 100.

Just as 2014 was coming to a close, NH’s theatre family lost a dear friend named Kevin Riley. He was a friend of mine too. Not a close one, but a guy I was glad to know. I never heard him speak an unkind word about anyone — and in the ego-driven world of theatre, that’s rare.

How’s this for a new year’s resolution?: “I absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, of whom or which I have heretofore been a subject or citizen.”

We’re all entitled to one addiction, assuming it’s legal and not terribly self-destructive.

Just about every year we are picked as one of the stingiest states in the union.

Some months I have to admit that what I call work is what many would love to do on their vacations.

I suppose most people have a story about something that happened at the fair. Usually it has to do with the consequences of eating too much fried dough and then riding something called “The Scrambler.”

My best friend during my formative years was steve bullock, who was first and foremost an artist (and still is). His father owned a scrapyard, basically a big pile of junk that he bought and sold. That field of rusting…

I once wrote a story for infinite energy magazine (a technical journal for cold fusion, believe it or not) about how cool it would be if we had free energy: Cities in space, desalinated ocean water making the deserts bloom,…

Anyone who has watched puppies tussle on the lawn or kids building a fort out of couch cushions has witnessed one function of fun.

Plato’s utopia was ruled by philosopher kings. We could do worse. In fact, with the current state of politics, it might behoove us to require a philosophy degree for anyone seeking high office.

My first journalism job in New Hampshire (about a quarter century ago) was as editor of a little weekly paper called The Bow Times.

I was a newlywed at the time, so my romantic instincts were perhaps a little addled, but to me it sure seemed like a great valentine’s day gift when I bought my wife a star from the international star registry.

Is it just me or does it seem like there’s an ever-growing list of topics you can’t discuss without people withdrawing from one another into opposing camps? Differences are good, but like a bottle of salad dressing, it’s better when you shake things up.

There’s one thing certain about the Christmas season: it’s a time that we go all out.

Some people are tone deaf. Others are color blind. I suffer from a more serious malady.

It’s always puzzled me how a state like New Hampshire can assimilate so many outsiders and flatlanders and still retain its character and its quirks.

I think people probably imagine that if they were “discovered” by broadway or hollywood and given a starring role to play they would be able to act without a lot of coaching or training. How hard can it be to pretend to be someone else for a while?